“Ryan, please, stop!”
The boy's actions do not alter. He continues to snap at the air. Markus' eyes well without warning, purging from his ducts and over his reddened cheeks with reckless abandon.
“No, no, no.”
Markus doesn’t have the strength to keep these words in. They pour from him like a running brook of sorrow. He shoves the boy back.
“Ryan! Please, stop!” he mutters through his tears.
The boy screeches and charges him again. He moves to the side and pushes the boy into the living room. The force knocks the child down, but he does not stay prone. He scrambles back to his feet and charges once more. Markus grabs his nephew’s arms and trips him to the floor. He pins him down, sitting on his legs and holding his arms against the floor with one hand.
"Markus?! Markus?!"
He hears his wife scream with fear from outside the broken window he entered.
"Don't come in here Kylie!" he frantically responds.
"What's going on?! Are you okay?!" she asks, her voice shakes and cracks.
"No, no. Nothing is okay." his response crawls from him.
His sobs intensify as he realizes what needs to be done. This little boy barely got to experience life. He will never feel the wind in his hair as he and his friends cruise the back roads basking in their freedom. He will never know the nervous excitement of a first date. He'll never know the joy and heartbreak of a first love.
This isn't what his life should've been. There was so much more for him to see, to experience. Markus grabs the small marble statue laying on the floor next to him. He holds it over the little boy's head.
"I'm so sorry Ryan. I love you."
His tears splash down onto his nephew's face, softening the days old blood covering him. He brings the statue down onto the boy's head, over and over until the child's rigid and morbid struggling has ceased.
Markus would search the rest of the house after his encounter with his youngest nephew. He would find Ryan’s brother, Charlie, dead in the kitchen, his stomach ripped apart and half of his head missing. His brother Pete sprawled out on his bedroom floor, his face mangled, and his body riddled with bullets. His sister-in-law June laying on the bottom bunk of her children’s bunk-bed. A single bullet hole through bottom of her jaw and exiting the back of her head.
On this day there would be no joyful reunion, no feverish planning, no quiet moments of intimacy, no brotherly bonding, no fortifying of windows and doors, no tune ups to cars, no children playing with dogs, no sisters-in-law catching up over tea, no board games played by the fireplace, no, not on this day. On this day there would be no solace.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It’s been years since she’s had the opportunity to lay or sleep on anything soft, and even with the option she couldn't fully take advantage of it. She couldn’t sleep on the make shift bed in the room. She tried, but it felt so foreign. After Mikey feel asleep she moved to floor. At some point in the night she awoke to Mikey moving down to join her and wrapping himself in her arms.
She wasn’t sure what was going to happen when she revealed herself to these strangers. She had an intense feeling that doing so was the right move, but still she wasn't sure. After they all lowered their weapons the family invited her and Mikey to join them around the fire. They fed her and Mikey and engaged in a short conversation. These new people could tell she was worn out. They offered to let her sleep in one of the rooms with Mikey.
She’s not naïve. These could’ve been bad people, they still could be. She barricaded the door and the window before laying down. No one disturbed them during the night. No one came to the door in the morning. Despite this she’s suspects these people were keeping an eye on her and Mikey throughout the night. They’d be stupid not to.
She lay still with the young boy in her arms, being careful not to disturb him. She was awake for a few hours before he awoke. He’s earned a good night’s sleep. When his eyes open for the day he is greeted by hers staring back at him. She smiles and caresses his head.
“You were pretty tired, weren’t you buddy?” she softly asks.
He nods and yawns, stretching his arms out.
“Well, you’re awake now.” -she sits up, then gently rises to her feet- “So let’s get up.” she says.
Mikey leans and up looks around for his shoes.
“Are we leaving?”
“I’m not sure yet.” she replies. She points to the dresser pressed against the door, “Help me move this.”
She and Mikey push the dresser back into place, then step out into the hallway, exiting the bedroom. All of the other doors in the hallway are closed. She’s not sure if this is a good sign or not. She can hear someone moving around downstairs. She takes Mikey’s hand and heads toward the commotion. She strides naturally, fully confident in her abilities if a struggle were to arise.
As they descend the stairs it becomes clear that someone is in the kitchen. They turn the corner to see the woman who they previously followed. She’s putting dishes away. Presumably from a breakfast shared among those that live here.
Rosaline watches as the girl extends to put plates and cups in the upper cabinets, her shirt lifting just enough to see the small of her back. This woman is short, almost the same height as Rosaline, but taller by an inch or two. Her skin is caramel in tone, she has long dark brown hair, and her clothes are much tighter fitting than Rosaline, herself, would enjoy.
The woman bobs her head as she wipes down the counters. There are two plates of food left on
